by Kien Nguyen
The palanquin jolted as the porters came to a stop. Pierre swung open the curtain, studied the ranks of soldiers, and dismounted. Ignoring the extended hand of an officer, he marched into the grand hall and found a place among the crowd. Prince Ánh and his brothers sat near their uncle, King Due Tong.
Although he was in his early twenties, the king was already graying and looking haggard. He sat on his jeweled throne with his legs astride, one knee quivering.
Partially hidden behind the throne was the queen of Cochin China. She whispered in her husband’s ear, while he listened intently.
Despite his close ties to the royal family, the bishop had always disapproved of King Due Tong. In 1765, Vice-king Truong Loan had carried out a coup d’état against King The Tong, Ánh’s father, and took control of his government. Loan himself then selected twelve-year-old Due Tong to be the next ruling monarch. Ánh’s father and mother were imprisoned and murdered. Through this stratagem, Loan gained power over the people and the throne, thus bypassing Ánh and his seven brothers.
The idea that his ward was cheated out of the throne ate away at Pierre. He picked Ánh in the hope that with his guidance this youth would become a liaison between France and Annam. He believed the prince was the rightful ruler. Like a chess master, Pierre contemplated ways to take advantage of the chaos that the marauding rebels would create within the dynasty.
Losing patience, Ánh rose, shouting into the vast hall. “Your Majesty, we don’t need any more debate. We must attack the Mountaineers now, pull them up by the roots. Let’s meet them in battle, face to face. Everything or nothing.”
Pierre saw an identical flash of anxiety on every face in the hall. On the dais, the prince’s seven brothers stood in a cluster, all long-legged and thin-necked and brown-skinned. Years of constant flight had broken their spirits, taming them into a herd. In a few more years, what would become of the Nguyen monarchy? Except in his student, there was no courage left in the line. Unfortunately, Prince Ánh had not yet gained the experience to lead an army.
Pierre emerged from the shadow, the hem of his black robe dragging along the floor.
Before the king could reply, he interrupted, “We cannot go to war against the peasants, Your Highness. We don’t have an efficient troop to defend our city. I urge you to consider a retreat.”
Overcome with frustration, Ánh kicked his chair. “Bishop, you have no right to speak your opinion here. This is Cochin China’s matter, and it should be resolved by our people.” He surveyed the noblemen and mandarins, searching for their approval.
“Is this Your Highness’s irrevocable decision?” Pierre asked his ward, keeping his gaze steady.
“Without doubt,” Ánh grumbled, and looked away.
The bishop approached the throne. “I must hear directly from the king that Cochin China does not need the help of the Christian priests or a European army.”
“Be silent!” shouted King Due Tong.
He pushed himself up with the help of his wife. Like an old person, he leaned forward, shoulders bent, and his hands held the arms of the throne for balance.
“Everyone, please keep your peace,” he said. “In this time of adversity, I need all of you to be united, not to squabble with one another. There is someone I must introduce to you.” He signaled to a soldier who was guarding a door below a staircase. “Bring forth my guest of honor.”
Behind the door was a large study, which was concealed by a screen. A man shuffled forward. His body swam inside a large blue tunic. Even though the hall was dimly lit, he held his hands to his forehead as if to shield his eyes from glare. Dark circles emphasized his eyes. A round birthmark was embossed on his left cheek. The assembly of nobles gasped in recognition.
“Gentlemen,” said the king, “I present to you my cousin, Prince Hoàng, the king of Cochin China, appointed by the rebels. For three years he has been held prisoner in the Tower of Grace, on the outskirts of Hue Citadel. He never stopped thinking about his people, and for that reason, he escaped the clutches of the enemy to come to us.”
Prince Hoàng climbed on the dais with difficulty. The king took his hand, helping him up.
The guest mumbled, “Dangerous rebels . . . I saw them, covered many hills with skilled soldiers. They are chasing me . . .”
Unable to continue, he wiped his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. The king, weeping, held him in his arms.
Ánh stomped his feet. “Fear and self-pity will not solve our predicament. They will just weaken the spirits of our soldiers. Let us take action before it is too late!”
No one paid any heed to Ánh. The king’s tears were contagious. Many of the mandarins and court officials sniffed in sympathy, until Due Tong collected himself enough to speak. His voice was hoarse with emotion.
“For too many years I have played the role of leader. During my reign, I have achieved nothing for the happiness of my people. Instead, I have managed to lose most of my ancestral lands. We have lived through floods, famine, plague, and war. Everything has been against me.”
The harsh words seemed to calm him. When he spoke again, he looked into the eyes of his noble followers. “I am not to blame. I never desired the throne, nor was I groomed for its responsibilities. Vice-king Truong Loan cast a dark shadow across the land with his misdeeds, and because of him, the rebels were born. When Hue Citadel collapsed, Loan was arrested and murdered by the Tonquinese, but his death was not enough to restore peace and harmony. Our citizens are still suffering hunger and misfortune.
“Except for all of you, I have no allies. I have no plans to improve the future. And, most of all, I have no skills to manage a government. We need to beg for heaven’s forgiveness. I believe that the gods will once again favor the Nguyen family’s fortune and destiny. But we must promise to reinstate the rightful heir to the throne. That is why I called you here.”
Murmurs of surprise and disagreement stirred the crowd.
Pierre called out, “But who is the rightful heir?” His voice was lost among those who asked the same question.
“He is!” Due Tong grabbed Prince Hoàng’s arm and raised it high. His skeletal hand dangled like a dead cobra.
A gasp swept the room.
The king continued, “To us and the people of Saygun, this is a prince. To the mountain rebels and the rest of the kingdom, he is king. From the landowners to the peasants, the nation recognizes his ancestry and his stature. I say he has already conquered the minds and the hearts of his men. What he needs is the throne. If I had the jade seal, I would bestow it on him. But since it is missing, our approval is enough.”
Pierre and Ánh exchanged a glance.
Prince Hoàng gave a loud moan. To everyone’s horror, the prince’s eyes rolled up as he fell to the floor in a swoon. Pierre was too shocked to utter a sound. Was the heir apparent an opium addict? Or was he merely weakened from his years of imprisonment and perilous escape? Either way, the bishop could not suppress a bitter laugh. His mocking sound ignited a reaction among the guests. Disputes broke out, voices bellowed, and someone screamed profanities. Such chaos had never been known in the imperial court.
Pierre turned to Ánh. “I am leaving. It is dangerous to stay. If you know what is best for you, you will come with me. Now!”
The prince looked at him with distrust. “Flee, again?” he asked. “No! I have seen the rebels’ forces. They are disorderly and poorly supplied. We have thousands of well-trained soldiers, armed and ready to lay down their lives for their kingdom. I am their prince. How can I leave?”
Pierre took in the room with a sweeping gesture. “Look around you. Your king is a weakling. His replacement is an invalid. Your brothers are all cowards. And your men are not prepared. Your Highness, you need more than an army to fight this battle. You need a miracle. You need me.”
“You’re a fool to think I need you,” shouted Ánh with indignation. “I stopped needing you long ago.”
An explosion near the entrance made the hall quake. Mandarins pressed
forward, clinging to one another amid a cloud of dirt and smoke. The beams creaked from above, and several roof tiles fell down, revealing the sky. Gongs were striking, heavily shod feet were clomping, and a platoon of soldiers ran into the chamber.
Pierre could not see much through the smoke. The acrid smell of gunpowder rekindled the memories of past skirmishes. He reached for the prince’s hand and felt it jerk away.
The battle for Saygun Citadel had begun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
From the top floor of a pagoda in the king’s palace, Pierre studied the spectacle below. Across the cavernous halls of the Eastern Palace, through the throne room’s shattered walls, he could see two towering pillars—the citadel’s main entrance. The columns were carved from sandstone to resemble twisted oak trees, forming an arch. From them hung the heavy doors of gray granite, which were open.
As King Due Tong charged through the gate, three thousand mounted imperial soldiers galloped behind him. The king was clad in golden armor and rode atop an elephant. In his hand burned a torch; its red flames were a beacon for his armed forces. Their roars rose with the persistent drumbeats.
Beyond the citadel, the landscape of Saygun consisted of rolling hills and rice terraces dotted by large haystacks. Cannon explosions opened over the plain like parasols of fire, competing with the soldiers’ rumbling chant.
Using a brass spyglass, Pierre looked for the enemy troops. In the room with him were Ánh and his wives and concubines. Several imperial guards stood by the door. Outside the pagoda, a second military troop was forming, under the direction of the prince’s seven brothers.
Through the magnifying lens, Pierre could see the fields in detail, down to the rice tassels that floated in the wind. Something seemed to crawl like a swarm of black cattle beneath the quivering sheaths. He had heard that the peasants were skillful at making themselves invisible, covering their bodies in dirt and clay to blend with nature.
Pierre saw King Due Tong rise on his elephant. Behind him were the highest-ranking mandarins—the most skilled warriors of the court. Next were the men with muskets loaded with gunpowder, followed by a militia of fighters carrying spears, swords, and bows.
The army faltered as it encountered resistance. The ground shrieked, churned, and erupted into thousands of brown bodies, like corpses that had risen from their graves. Three of the knolls of haystacks morphed into elephants, charging toward the king’s brigade.
In the tower, Prince Ánh gave a cry of dismay. Pierre lowered the spyglass. One of the enemy generals who rode the charging elephants was a female. She wore armor made of bamboo slats, and her hair streamed as she stood atop the beast, brandishing a sword. Her foot struck the crown of the elephant’s head, urging it into the attack. A horn wailed to signal a charge from the peasants. They advanced, shouting.
The imperial army quailed, vastly outnumbered by the attackers. Frightened horses whinnied and bucked, crashing into one another. Some of the royal guards’ muskets slipped through their fingers before they had a chance to fire. The soldiers closest to the rear attempted to retreat into the citadel, but it was too late. The gate was shut. Mountaineers were closing in, forcing them to huddle in the center of the field around their king.
“Fire! Fire!” screamed King Due Tong to his troops.
A rain of arrows from the rebels drenched his army. Muskets barked. Bodies fell. Many bullets struck the peasants, but all too many found targets within their own ranks. Before long, the Mountaineers swept over the royal forces. Weapons clashed in hand-to-hand combat between the two armies.
The female warrior stood on the edge of the battlefield, watching. Her every gesture exuded confidence. As one rebel met his death, two sprang up and took his place. Soon the king’s troops were grossly outnumbered. They herded closer together, fighting with all their might. The king turned his head in the direction of the pagoda, to where Pierre and the prince were watching. He staggered and waved his hands in desperation.
“Save the king!” cried Ánh.
A guard ran down the spiral stairs. But below, the army of the prince’s seven brothers had already acted. The granite gates screeched on their hinges, revealing a wall of peasants on the other side. The horses covered the green pasture with long strides, keeping no order as they sped from the citadel. The princes’ weapons flashed high. One after another, the soldiers descended the vast field, into an arch of sunlight.
Pierre watched the eldest prince hack his way through a throng of rebels. Limbs flew in all directions. Soon his body was soaked in red. However, the destruction that he created was short-lived. From a tree twenty paces away, a black arrow flew through the leaves to pierce his neck. He tilted to one side and slid beneath his stallion. His body was swallowed by a mass of advancing hooves.
A path was clear where a great number of peasants had fallen. The remaining princes and their warriors could now view King Due Tong and his surrounded troops. They were gaining on the rebels, and their only objective was to save their king. Within their ranks, the bowmen took positions, shooting arrows from their horses. Several peasants fell; many more retreated.
The female general yelled and stamped her feet on top of her elephant. Her body twisted in a primitive dance to the rhythm of her shrieking voice. The animal trumpeted in response. Its sound ripped high above the clamor, and the other elephants joined the chorus.
What seemed like another earthquake shook the ground. The rumbling spread as far as the distant forests, where the trees shivered. More peasants surged forward, hatched from within the Earth’s bosom. All around the mound on which the imperial soldiers had gathered, a terrible cry reverberated. One by one, the king’s soldiers tossed their weapons in defeat.
The fire in the king’s torch had gone out. This time, he did not look back at the citadel.
Silence fell. The lead elephant lifted one foot, forming a step for the female general to dismount.
With every eye focused on her, she strode over to the frightened king. Ignoring him, she gestured to his elephant in an unspoken language, then took a few steps back. The beast understood her command. It knelt on its front legs. A group of peasants reached into the king’s compartment and pulled him out. She clapped her hands, and all the elephants rose tall.
Together the animals lifted their trunks and released a penetrating roar.
Pierre put his hand on Ánh’s shoulder, forcing the prince to look at the battlefield.
“What does Your Highness plan to do?”
The prince sat still, wearing a vacant look.
“You cannot try to rescue your uncle and brothers. As you can see for yourself, nothing can save them. Soon the citadel will be invaded. You’ll be imprisoned and tried along with the other royals. None of you will live.”
The women sobbed, holding on to one another.
Ánh shrugged away from Pierre’s grasp and shouted, “Silent, all of you!” He clutched his temples. “And you too, white devil! I cannot think with you filling my head with such damnation.” He lurched to his feet and almost fell.
Pierre was unrelenting. “I am your only friend. Ever since you became my ward, my mission has been to protect you. Your Highness, I’m afraid this time it might be too late.”
Outside, the Mountaineers had disappeared from view, taking the defeated soldiers as their prisoners.
Ánh panted. “If it is hopeless, then I shall attempt an escape, or die trying with the last of my men.”
Pierre couldn’t help smiling. “That is what the rebels want you to do,” he said. “It would be easier for them to draw you out there than to break through the walls of the citadel and hunt for you in here. There are traps we can set to counterattack them. Remember, they know that besides Prince Hoàng, you are the only one left that has not been captured. For now, they are amusing themselves at your expense. Your sanity is what they want. That is why they retreated.”
His words seemed to reach the prince.
“What can I do, Cha CA?”
&n
bsp; “It doesn’t seem likely the rebels will strike anytime soon,” said Pierre, pushing his shoulders back and resuming his erect posture. “They are anticipating your surrender. We still have a few hours to prepare a plan.”
“What if I don’t surrender?”
Pierre replied, “Then they will tear this city apart, brick by brick, to search for you. This day will enter history as one of the rebels’ finest achievements—the day they conquered the South. You must —”
A cry cut off Pierre’s words. It came from Lady Jade Bình. He threw an annoyed look at her, but that did not stop her from moaning. She was clutching her abdomen. Her face was covered in sweat and distorted with pain. The prince turned to her, bewildered.
“What is wrong?” Ánh asked.
The girl’s lips tightened. Pierre watched her press her thighs together in that frantic gesture that children often use to fight the urge to urinate.
A voice came from behind the wives. “Your Third Mistress is about to be blessed with a child, Your Highness.”
For the first time since they had entered the pagoda, Pierre noticed Xuan. She wore a simple tunic of honey-colored silk.
The prince’s eyes widened. “No! It can’t be! Now? But it is too soon, isn’t it? How could it be?” he babbled. “Quick, somebody help her. Take her away and get a midwife to help with the birthing. I cannot see this act. It will curse me with ill luck. I cannot survive any more misfortunes.”
“Where do you want her to go?” Xuan asked.
Another woman, the oldest of the wives, struck her across the face. Xuan’s head swiveled to the side, and her cheek reddened.
“Why did you hit her?” Ánh asked in surprise.
The princess replied, “Twice she spoke without your permission, Your Highness. I cannot just stand idly by.”
He pointed at her. “You must never hit her again.” To Xuan he said, “Take her to the next room and get a midwife. If there is no one, then get a servant to help you. Let me know the sex of the child when it comes.”
